The Knifefighter
by jaqueline-littlebird
Summary: Three unrelated short stories written for a prompt on Norsekink LJ: Loki is willing to get his hands dirty in a fight.
1. Dining Like the Saxons

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.

Music: "Wodan Heerst" by Heidevolk

**Dining Like the Saxons**

In hindsight, I know I was way too trusting and gullible in my youth. But verily, what could I have done differently? The peace of the hall _is_ an ancient tradition throughout the realms. Father _had_ insisted on impeccable behaviour, now that lasting peace with Svartalfheim seemed to be within reach. All I was supposed to do was sign the prepared treaty, then eat and drink heartily. I could do that. Or so I thought.

We left our weapons outside the hall as instructed. I felt naked without my shield and battle axe (that was before Loki procured Mjölnir from the dwarves), but it could not be helped. My brother dropped his sword Lævateinn, which he only bore on formal occasions and never practised with anyway, and our friends and retinue discarded their weapons as well. Servants opened the carved oaken doors to the hall wide for us to enter, all the Dökkalfar nobles inside standing and cheering.

Fires burned in the pits; the long tables bowed under platters with delicacies, mead flowed, and we sat feasting and toasting our host Malekith as if among friends. In hindsight, I should have been more suspicious. Everyone else was, really. By the time Sif pointed out to me how armed darkelven guards filtered in through hidden doors behind the tapestries, Volstagg had already concealed several gnawed-clean elk and oxen thighbones under the table to use as a clubs if need be, and Hogun was weighing trivets for use as shuriken. At least that's what Fandral told me later. At the time, I was too deep in my cups to notice much or do anything. In my youth, I sometimes drank more than adviseable.

The wine slowed me down, so, when the Accursed's men charged, I did not rise to brawl as I used to do on other occasions. Trust me, a heavy oaken bench in the right hands can be as mighty a weapon as a greatsword.

So Sif took command. Unarmed and outnumbered though we were, warriors of Asgard would not go down without a fight, much less surrender. From where I was resting my head on the table, I think I noticed my brother diving under it, as if frightened. That confused me somewhat at the time, since I had never seen him frightened of anything except a scolding from father, secure in the knowledge his magic would allow him escape from any calamity. Judging by their shouts and jeers, our friends were none too pleased by this show of cowardice either. The Dökkalfar, though, focused on those of us standing and paid him no heed.

Thanks to good Fandral, who shook me mightily, I found my way into the fray eventually, and may have felled the one or other of those traitors who had trapped us, as is my way. We fought without hope, but bravely, sure to end up in Valhalla on that day, unless the Allfather would ride in to the rescue.

And rescued we were, but by my brother. A shout from the high seat made the darkelven guardsmen retreat. Injured though we were, many of us bleeding freely from swordstrikes we could not parry without shields in the melee, we set out to pursue them, myself in the lead, but level-headed Sif called us to reason once again. All eyes turning to the king's seat, we saw my brother sprawling in the Accursed's lap, grinning broadly and holding one of his throwing knives to the pulsepoint in the Elf's neck.

I do not recall what vexed me more in that moment: the interruption of an extraordinary battle, or the fact my brother had broken ancient law by bringing a weapon to the hall. Only after his apparent death, centuries later, when contemplating our past adventures, did I fully understand how useless and inglorious our deaths would have been, a disappointment to father.

I am happy to say Loki enjoyed himself that evening, even though we did not give him full credit for saving our lives. For my part, I shall blame the latter on the wine I was unused to. Re-lodged to sit behind Malekith on the high seat, legs clasped around him, one knife still at his throat, my brother insisted that the feast proceed. Soon, we ate again, and cheered the king our host, whom Loki fed tidbits speared on another knife, so declaring his knives cutlery instead of weapons. (I did not understand this until much later.) The elven king sat stony-faced and rigid, knife at his throat, while we were merry, until Loki took to tickling him.

In the end, even the treaty was signed. Of course the dark elves broke it soon after. I am ashamed now that I never thanked my brother for saving all of us that day. When contemplating those long-past events recently, I decided to carry a pocket knife with me at all times. Sif informs me that she took up that practice centuries ago. Wise woman.

**A/N**

(The headline refers to a tale recorded by the brothers Grimm, in which Saxons and Thuringians meet in a hall for negotiations over peace and a land deal neither side is happy with. No weapons are permitted, but the Saxons figure their long daggers („seaxes") are cutlery. Seeing the Thuringians neglected to bring cutlery of their own, the Saxons murder them. Land issue solved. They claim the tribe took its name from this event.)


	2. All Njörd's Little Pets

Disclaimer: Still Marvel's, not mine.

Music: "The Sunk'n Norwegian" by Alestorm

**All Njörd's Little Pets**

One day, Thor decided to take little Balder out fishing for halibut. Problem being that Thor knew naught about fishing, and his most likely use of an oar was to clobber somebody over the head, Loki insisted they ask Njörd to come along. Who better to learn from than the god of the sea himself?

Thor, of course, would not listen. With Mjölnir at his belt, he claimed, there was nothing to fear. He could control the weather and slay any monster that might raise its ugly head.

Loki raised an eyebrow and gave Balder a questioning look, which his little brother reciprocated. They both remembered _that _fishing trip when Thor had hoisted an entire ox' carcass on the hook, supposedly fishing for monsters, only to be stared down by Jörmungand's indignant snake face and told not to do such silly pranks. This time, at least they took only some small, normal bait with them.

Long line cast not far from shore, they let their boat drift lazily. To pass time, Thor told Balder once again how he had saved the mortals of Midgard from the dragon Vritra some millennia ago, while Loki talked a gull into pooping on Thor's head. The bird missed, though.

Occupied thusly, all of them missed the slight tug on the line, which would have indicated to the more attentive that some rather large predator was feeding off their catch, working its way upwards. Nobody noticed the saucer-eyed kraken head that slilently surfaced, and the dark, slimy tentacles encroaching the tiny jollyboat.

„And then, they made me their king!" Thor enthused, while Loki was cleaning his fingernails with a dagger in a show of boredom.

Just then, a tentacle gripped Balder and dragged him overboard. The boy screamed, then went under.

Thor rose to stand in the wildly swinging boat, arms flailing, staring at the sea monster. Like all creatures, the krakenkind had sworn to queen Frigga never to harm Balder, but this beast apparently failed to understand the golden boy could still drown while it happily toyed with him.

(Well, supposedly all creatures had sworn, Loki thought once again while hurriedly undressing. The Aesir were already bound by their fealty oaths to Odin, and asking races such as the humans or the hostile Jötnar was out of the question. Even among the plants and animals Frigga had reached her magic out to, some she had omitted, probably because they did not fit in her categories of thinking: lichen, slime mold, sponges, most epiphytes, the sentient swamp fogs of Landviði, and parasites ranging from tapeworm to mistletoe. Sometimes Loki could not believe the sad state of Asgard's education. But the Allmother had felt so much better after the oath-taking.)

Balder half-surfaced, coughing up water, struggling against the tentacle around his waist. Another slimy appendage was petting his hair.

Thor raised his hammer to the sky, and Loki could barely tackle him before he could invoke lightning.

„No lightning, bilgesnipe-brain! Are you crazy? The force spreads in the water, you'd kill Balder!"

The kraken, meanwhile, submerged, dragging Balder with it. Loki dived after them, dagger between his teeth, leaving a puzzled looking Thor behind whose hammer would be too slow and unwieldy under water to do any good.

Balder survived, barely.

Thor told him in the healing ward that fishing was nothing like the real thing anyway, and he'd take him troll-hunting as soon as he'd be able.

Frigga forbade it.

Loki took lessons in fishing and seafaring from Njörd.

The kraken (cut-off tentacles regrown) was banished to Midgard.

**Centuries later**

Tony Stark was approaching the door to the ballroom where they held the Stark Industries carnival party. This year's costume motto was „movie characters", but Tony was exempt and wore his trademark Iron Man suit, as he always did. No silly costume for him, thank you very much. Besides, if any supervillain would choose to attack, he could handle the situation. This allowed the other Avengers and invited agents to relax.

To his surprise, he found Thor pacing in front of the entrance, wearing a frilly white dress with corset, his beard hidden under a veil, looking distressed. No reason for the billionaire to break stride. („Been there. Seen that.")

„Great choice, Snow-White! Priscilla, queen of the desert? Lemme guess, Bernadette – your brother is Felicia?"

Thor covered his bewilderment by straightforward attack as always: „Why do you wear armour? Are we men not to wear womens' gowns, and the ladies men's attire, or to „cross-dress" as my brother informed me?"

„Ahh, well, you see, Cinderella, the motto was actually movie characters, and I am exempt, but you're sure doing fine ..."

Judging from his facial colouring and expression, Thor should have claimed to be the „Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" personified when he burst the door open and charged in, Iron Man in his scarlet suit by his side.

They found Loki sitting on a table, one leg tucked under, in magically perfect Zombie Jack Sparrow attire, animatedly storytelling to some junior managers: „... and then, they made me their king!"

Noticing the new arrivals, he stood and sauntered over, arms akimbo (the man had nerve). „Scarlett! Freya!"

Thor punched him through a wall.

Out of the rubble pile in the adjacent room, the trickster groaned: „I may have deserved that."


	3. Bank Robbery (part 1)

Disclaimer: Marvel's, not mine. No money made.

Music: "Geld oder Leben" by EAV

**Scissors Rock! No Paper Money for You!**

Some days into Loki's probation, at the Man of Iron's advice, Thor took his brother out to open a bank account. The Thunderer already had one himself, and even though he did not understand the Midgardian ways of distributing wealth and goods (in Asgard, anything he wanted was always provided), the little plastic cards had proven useful in the past, for the purchase of food in the local taverns, and to placate mortals if he accidentally broke a door or wall when entering.

To blend in and avoid trouble, the brothers wore Midgardian clothing. Thor was in blue jeans and a flannel plaid shirt; Loki wore black jeans and a grey hoodie with a smurf on it (a gift from Anthony), and had dyed his hair a reddish blond. Mjölnir, of course, had to be left in Stark Tower, but with his brother's powers bound, Thor did not think he'd need his hammer.

The banking facility was packed when they arrived. Standing in one of the queues beside a little old lady with a walking frame, they learned from the overall chatter there was a special offer these days with gifts to new customers, which obviously attracted many.

Ahead of them in their line, a young lady of dark skin like Heimdall's, slightly rocking a baby stroller with one hand, was in a heated discussion on her StarkPhone. „What? No, hon, told you twice. You want the shotgun, you open your own account again. Yeah … Yeah … I know they bungled your 401k, but still … No, listen, hon, I don't want no shotgun in my home. This is New York, not Texas. I'll take the sewing kit, gonna make my own stuff for Susy for the pageants. That's final."

Mildly surprised, Loki turned to Thor: „They hand out weapons in the place where wealth is stored. This world is amazing."

Thor frowned: „Why not? That makes it much easier for the customers to protect their wealth, does it not?" Loki facepalmed.

The little old lady piped in from the side: „They don't hand out ammunition, of course. Don't worry, young man, it's harmless. You two are not from here?"

Loki blinked at her, then grinned conspiratorially. „We aren't." Pointing at Thor, he added: „I'll take the sewing kit anyway. He wouldn't like me to have the longer … weapon."

He did not turn to look, but from the expression of slowly dawning understanding the old lady displayed, Thor's face must have been just right.

„Ooooh, the two of you are … together … then?" the woman asked.

„Yesss!" Loki enthused, grinning broadly, showing teeth. Half-turning, he hugged Thor in a show of exaggerated affection. „We're so very much in love, aren't we, darling?" Burying his face in the crook of his brother's neck, he murmured, still loudly enough for the bystanders to hear: „Now give us a kiss!"

The woman with the walking frame apparently bought the show. „You young people are so lucky." She sniffled a little. „You know, back in the day, when they found my uncle Harvey with another guy, he hanged himself in the attic. I'm so happy for you two, that you can have this now. I wish you the best of luck."

Loki did not have the heart to call his prank now any more. He even regrettet it. He told himself that was because Thor would punch him through some walls later in the day. Thankfully, for the time being the oaf played along, hugging his little brother back.

The young mother before them in the queue was just signing the forms, her new sewing kit beside her on the counter in a shining black faux leather case, when the doors burst open and three men masked with balaclavas stormed in, brandishing assault rifles, yelling simultaneously.

„Everyone stay calm!"

„Everyone down! Down! Lay down, on the ground! Hands spread!"

„No, fold hands behind your head!"

„Stay down, and no-one gets hurt"

„Quick, give us the money!"

Throughout the room, frightened people hastily got down on the floor, some begging for their lives, whimpering or simply crying „Oh my God!" Loki (lying on the floor as instructed) hoped Thor would not feel addressed. The fool was still standing.

„What is the meaning of this?" the thundergod bellowed.

Loki sighed and briefly shared the Eyeroll of Long Suffering with the old lady to the side, who still stood, clutching her walking frame.

„Down, oaf!" the trickster hissed. „You can't fight them here, there'd be a bloodbath. Let them take the money and run."

It was too late.

„Hey, I know that guy. He's been on the news. That's him, the one with the red cape and the hammer."

„Captain America?" another bankrobber asked, not looking up from the accountant he had stuffing dollar bills into a plastic bag at gunpoint.

„No, the one who brought the space whale down."

„The Hulk?" Now the other robber looked up and gave the Thunderer a calculating look.

Thor, meanwhile, had had enough. „I am Thor, Odin's son, crown prince of Asgard. Explain yourselves! What is your purpose? And stop scaring these good people!"

Loki idly took in the position of the surveillance cameras, wondering how many clicks on YouTube his not-brother would get with this gig. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the lady with the walking frame inching out of the potential line of fire and behind a pillar. Someone in this room had sense at least.

Robber 3 from near the door, nervously looking out, intervened: „Hurry up, guys! I want out here before the cops come!"

The second that Thor turned to him was enough for plastic-bag-man to drop his loot, dash towards the baby stroller and grab the pink dressed toddler out of it who had so far only been watching the show wide-eyed. He yanked her up by one arm, probably dislodging it, and she gave a piercing wail.

„My baby!" her mother cried. „Don't hurt my baby!"

„Shut up, bitch!" the gangster growled, pointing his gun at her, before awkwardly changing the grip on it so he could point it at the tear-faced, wailing girl dangling in his left.

„You crazy?" robber-by-the-door yelled.

„Shut up!" The kidnapper had his eyes locked on Thor. „Got an idea. That big guy" - he was gesturing with his gun at the Asgardian - „is kinda strong, yeah? Super-strong? So we take him down to the strongroom an' he breaks the door open for us. Gonna be real rich. Gonna get real lot of money. You with us, big guy? You're gonna do what I say, or the kiddo gets it."

Shaking her again for good measure, which elicited new wails from her and a stream of begging from her tear-faced mother, the robber retreated to the stairs that led to the basement, indicating for Thor and one of his companoins to follow. The thunderer obeyed, shoulders slumped.

**A/N**

Sincerest apologies for not being able to write either a New York accent or Loki's British one for contrast. English is not my mother tongue.

I have no idea how common giving away guns to new bank account openers is in the US; it features in one of Michael Moore's movies, probably Bowling for Columbine. Myself, of course, I got the sewing kit where I live.


	4. Bank Robbery (part 2)

Disclaimer: as before

Music: "Rock, Paper, Scissors" by Katzenjammer

**Scissors Rock! No Paper Money for You! (2/2)**

There was no way this would work. Even if Thor could open that door downstairs without his hammer – doubtful – the police would have long arrived by then. As if on cue, the first siren sounded outside. Robber-by-the-door jumped, cursing. „Stay down, keep calm, ok? We only want money. They'll let us go and nobody gets hurt." Then several things happened at once.

Police cars stopped on the street, breaks screeching.

Cops jumped out, guns drawn.

Robber-by-the-door sprinted for cover behind a pillar.

Loki hissed „Need a distraction" at the old lady with the self-preservation instinct. (Hopefully outweighed by a willingness to help. He thought he had spotted some cat hair on her coat.)

Desperate, mumbled prayers from the young mother beside the counter: „Oh God, oh, God, please, anyone, save my baby!"

The robber arriving behind the pillar, stopping, staring the woman with the walking frame who so far had escaped attention.

Said old lady enacting something between a heart-attack and a nervous breakdown most convincingly.

Behind the man's back, Loki jumped to his feet and knocked him out with a chop to the side of his neck, the pulse-point in the vein. With his other hand, the trickster caught the robber's hand that held the rifle, so he could not accidentally pull the trigger. Grinning thanks to his helper, Loki lowered the robber to the ground, then uncocked and dissembled the rifle. (Good thing agent Barton had given him a crash course on contemporary Midgardian weapons.)

Now time was of the essence. Most of the hostages in the room, lying face down on the floor, had probably not noticed they could as well walk out now. If they did, the two robbers in the basement would hear the commotion.

„Help me again?" Loki whispered toward the old woman. (Yes, that was definitely cat hair.) „Stall the police, will you?" Not waiting for her answer, mimicking the downed robber's voice as best he could, he said loudly: „Everyone stay down! We're gonna release you one by one. You here, ma'am, you go first. Tell them we want a getaway car."

The woman – bless her soul to Folkwang (he doubted she'd appreciate the company in Valhalla) – slowly made her way to the front door, leaning heavily on her walking frame now after standing so long.

Loki took the time to tie the downed robber with his own belt, then jumped over the counter, taking the sewing kit with him. Ducking out of sight, he took out a pair of scissors, which he tore apart with ease. One blade in each hand, he stalked downstairs.

Behind him, the young mother, who had witnessed all that too shocked to react, wiped the tears from her eyes and scrambled over to the disassembled gun.

Down in the basement, the girl's crying, the robbers' angry yells and Thor alternately kicking the vault door and ramming his shoulder into it (he had made a dent) masked Loki's approach perfectly.

The first robber, he stabbed from behind, angling up from below the ribs into the diaphragm so he could not scream. His comrade (the ringleader, who still held the child) only turned around when the dying man's weapon clanked to the ground. Wide-eyed, he received a scissor blade to the heart and another to the armpit, cutting the tendons so he dropped his gun. Loki sped up his death by yanking out the blade from the heart, releasing a fountain of blood. (There went Stark's smurf shirt. Grey was not his colour anyway.)

„Brother! I am glad you decided to help. What took you so long?" Thor had given up his pointless pounding.

Loki ignored him. The little girl was whimpering beside the gangster in his death-throes, her arm clearly dislodged. From centuries of experience, Loki knew this should be addressed immediately, before swelling set in, making treatment more difficult. Sitting cross-legged, he gathered the girl in his lap, stroking her curly hair to calm her. Sadly, he had no painkilling magic now.

Just then, a voice from the staircase interrupted: „Hands off! My baby, you're not gonna hurt her, whoever you are."

The little girl's mother had done her best to re-assemble the rifle. There was no telling whether the thing was functional, and she was pointing it anywhere between wall and ceiling, but Loki's opinion of her went up a notch. Not far enough to shield the girl from ricocheting bullets with his own body if it came to that, though; not with his healing magic blocked. All he needed was one second of distraction to set the arm.

„Don't worry, mylady, your daughter is allright. Worrying is bad for your blood circulation. Thor, darling, why don't you tell the lady a story to help her relax? Maybe of that time I found you naked in the bathroom when you had 'accidentally fallen' on your hammer's handle?"

The two or three seconds when the woman stared at the god of thunder, both of them mouth agape, were sufficient for Loki to set the girl's arm and present her to her mother, who thankfully dropped the rifle to gather her child up in her arms. Shortly afterwards, policemen stomped down the stairs.

Of course the newspapers wrote „The Mighty Thor Thwarts Bank-Robbery", or some such. Loki was used to living in his not-brother's shadow; why should it be different on Midgard? Thor did not get it. „Brother, you did well! I'm so happy for you. Stay with us in upholding the law, and you shall be redeemed in no time!", the oaf boomed.

„Your friends were less enthusiastic about upholding the law when I reported Stark for drunken driving the other day." Loki grumbled.

What was redemption for, anyway? He did not want to return to Asgard. Midgard was at least entertaining. Sighing, he resolved to help Peter with his underpaid job of gathering footage about other superheroes than Spider-Boy. There was this picture of Thor posing in front of the mirror in yellow underpants with a blue moose pattern (another gift from Anthony) which he had secretly taken. That should do.

**A/N**

Thanks to all reviewers! I don't think I'll write any more on this prompt; these three stories were all that popped up in my head for the knifefighting theme.


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